Series of One-Shots Involving Spain
by SpanishCoatofArms
Summary: Synopsis: This is a series of creative writing that features APH Spain with various characters. Some will be original work and some will be inspired from various fan-art found online.
1. Spain & England

【🍅𝕻𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔-𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌🍅】

Fanfiction website doesn't allow the use of picture so here is the link where you can view it (no spacing): archiveofourown dot org/ works/22218616/chapters/53050468#workskin

* * *

Since the beginning of time, fundamental differences and contention over territories were the hallmarks of their tumultuous history that had kept the two nations on opposing sides. Even when they were mere babes in the wood, swaddled in cloths, there was very little common ground between the two of them. Taken in by France and the House of Bourbon, rivalry became a second-nature to the Kingdom of Spain when it comes to the British nation. From teasing remarks to outright warfare, mutual marauding and sending good men to die in their own respective bid for petty victory, all of that fitted Antonio like a well-worn glove.

Perhaps that was the reason he treasured fleeting moment like this: Standing in close proximity to Arthur with no trace of malicious intention between them. No, quite the opposite in fact; this, Antonio reflected with equal parts of nostalgia and pleasure and contentment, this was as close to camaraderie as it could ever be with the mischievous Britt. For just a little while, there was no one around to remind them of their volatile history and they didn't have to play the parts of antagonist to each other.

"Amigo, sabes que quiero lo mejor para ti," began Antonio, all tenderness and good humor, "You must allow me to cook for you tonight. If you must insist, you can bring your raspberry scones for dessert. I have survived your nourishment many times before and I will triumph again." The playful Spaniard playfully head-butted the Britt, grinning all the while the other returned with a rare smile of his own.

Britain reminded him so much of a particularly cantankerous, mistreated gattito that required patience and time before he would deem another person worthy of his companionship. Antonio treasured moments like this partly because it felt as though he has achieved something most incredible and rare. There was nobody around to remind him of the many transgressions committed against his people at the hands of Arthur or to stir up the ache in the Spaniard's heart by the mentioning the tragedy of his precious Armada. During times like this, Antonio was able to simply forget and indulge himself in the company of the other green-eyed nation.

These kinds of moment…They never last. The idea of them returning to their usual state of hostility and rivalry tugged away at something inside of the Spaniard. It was always so transient that it had him clinging on to it dearly.

No, Arthur, the melody is fine, like sparkling wine.  
I like slow music like this, I promise, said Antonio.

It's going fast enough…

【 Ａｒｔｗｏｒｋ ｉｓ ｒｅｇｒｅｔｔａｂｌｙ ｎｏｔ ｍｉｎｅ】


	2. Spain Portugal & England

【🍅𝕻𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔-𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌🍅】

Fanfiction website doesn't allow the use of picture so here is the link where you can view it (no spacing): archiveofourown dot org/ works/22218616/chapters/53050861#workskin

* * *

Vexation simmered low and unbearable inside the Spaniard's miniature form as he watched the British nation pawing at his hermano with those tea-stained and sticky digits that will no doubt sully Portugal's complexion. Huffing like an irate turtle, Spain unceremoniously fling succession of no less than three tomatoes at the smirking puta.

Splash Splash Splash! …Ahh, let it never be said that the personification of the Iberian nation doesn't have a mean, deadly accuracy when it comes to throwing articles at his adversary. Perhaps much later, one will find the Spaniard weeping inconsolably for the noble sacrifice made by those brave, beloved fruits.

But for now, as Spain pasted his tiny form against his hermano's cheek, he was contented to purring up like a storm. He rewarded himself with nuzzle against the tip of Portugal's nose for having successfully rescued his hermano from the fiendish Britain. Between the purring and smooches, he thought he heard Portugal trying to coax him into letting go of his face, but that must be a mistake! Hermano, come back home with me, si! The scent of dessert wine and custard tarts from his hermano's skin was almost as good as churros and tomatoes. He smells so much like home!

Come back to me, Portugal, you can have anything you want. What? Of course I'll acknowledge your independence from me, Spain lied so, so earnestly. Bright, emerald optics shone with absolute adoration and theatrical proclamations of filial love and promises on his lips. Come back home with me, por favor, Portugal!

【 Ａｒｔｗｏｒｋ ｉｓ ｒｅｇｒｅｔｔａｂｌｙ ｎｏｔ ｍｉｎｅ】


	3. El Conquistador

🌹𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: The following writing exercise contains mature content, including but not limited to rape and unsafe sexual practice. Consider yourself warned, fair and square.

𝐇𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞

ｆｅａｔ． ＥＬ ＣＯＮＱＵＩＳＴＡＤＯＲ

El Conquistador was devastatingly beautiful, almost excruciatingly so. Imperially slim and an angelic countenance seemingly carved by God's own two hands, even when the Spaniard donned only in a simple pair of shirt and trouser – El Conquistador was still the cynosure of all eyes and envy at the ball. Even the fair Queen of Castilla seemed infatuated with him, if the flush on her rosy cheeks and the timorous request for the pleasure of his company were of any indication.

Beneath the King Fernandez's careful scrutiny, he indulged Isabella with a waltz or two. Every bit of an attentive and courteous dance partner, he kept his hand above her waist and filled the space between them with casual conversation, praised her beauty and her impeccable taste in the royal gown and jewelry. España, Isabella said, you spent so many moons away from the Kingdom so, always setting sail for the New World; surely you could stay longer this time?

Words of platitude coupled with a graceful spin to the lovely melody of music brought him a moment to push aside the ire that swelled within his chest at that request. His expression remained apathetic, still courteous but grimly, undeniably indifferent to those who should dare to scrutinize too closely. Fortunately enough, the song came to an end and the Spaniard managed to extract himself under the pretense of having to conclude a discussion with his war general before the end of the night. For all of his lust for gold, glory and gratification, mortal flesh never held must interest to El Conquistador, especially the average humans. Men or women, young or old, they always broke so easily and pitifully beneath his touch.

El Conquistador did not make love to anybody, no, he subjugated them. He held them down and extracted pleasure from their flesh and sometimes, he would breach them raw without any preparation and he would keep fucking them until pain transcends into pleasure, until it felt good and his name the only prayer on their lips.

Even though rumors of the barbarian treatment of his bedwarmers traveled far and wide beyond the border of España, suitors still flock to him as though they were moths attracted to flame. It was only the ones who were reluctant and hateful of the Spaniard proved to be any sort of noteworthy entertainment for him. They put up better struggle with their teeth and nail and the gratification stemmed from their unwilling climax beneath his administration a pursuit worth repeating.

They say the deadliest species are the ones that cloaked themselves in flamboyant display, designed to warn off predators and to convince said competition to think twice before attempting to engage in conflict. For El Conquistador, he needed no corporeal disguise, for his unearthly beauty grew more breathtaking with each new territory conquered and brought under the Spanish sovereignty. Unparagoned was the nation esteemed by God himself and forevermore will he continue to outshine even the brightest star in the sky…


End file.
